


Hazards of Negotiation in the Pegasus Galaxy

by trophic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trophic/pseuds/trophic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way to rescue John is to fuck him. This turns out to be a bit of a problem because John's a backdoor virgin and Richard is rather well endowed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazards of Negotiation in the Pegasus Galaxy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Stargate Atlantis Kinkmeme. Slightly edited and revised. Wrote for my own prompt this time (even though I had no intention of doing so when I posted the prompt). What can I say? I have no shame.
> 
> Contains: Aliens Make Them Do It, Dubcon, and a really big dick

He's already been given water and marginally edible food, so when his cell door opens again, John braces himself for the worst. He figures they're finally going to tell him why they're holding him. Either that or rough him up a bit, but as it turns out, it's not his captors after all. 

It's Woolsey. Looking like a sight for sore eyes, but that's probably just the three days of solitary confinement speaking.

"Guess somebody missed me, after all," John says, climbing to his feet.

Woolsey looks offended. "We've been in nonstop negotiations for nearly three days," he says, and it's true he looks a little unstarched around the edges. "You're not hurt?"

"I'm fine," John says.

"Good," Woolsey says. "That's very good." But he just stands there, blocking the door, like he's forgotten what he's here for.

"Well, much as I've enjoyed my stay, how 'bout we blow this joint?" John says, still going for casual. He's not going to mention the rats that come out at night in his cell, or the roach he found in the sole meal they served him yesterday.

"Right," Woolsey says, and tugs on his uniform jacket. "About that..."

John suddenly has a funny feeling. The kind of feeling he gets just before he realizes that once again he's going to have to do something incredibly stupid to save the day.

"I'm afraid there is a condition on your release," Woolsey says. 

"A condition," John says, and the funny feeling gets funnier.

"Yes, well." Woolsey clears his throat. "I'm sorry to say that the only way I could get them to let you go was to convince them that you're my _katsekeen_."

"And what," John says levelly, "the hell is a _katsekeen_?"

"It's a complicated term, actually. Even Teyla wasn't entirely sure of the proper definition. She thought it meant simply a personal slave, but I'm afraid the actual meaning seems to be closer to 'catamite'."

John takes a step toward Woolsey, not incidentally emphasizing the difference in their heights. "You told them we were..." he waves a hand between them "...involved?"

"Not exactly," Woolsey says, taking a step backward. "The relationship in question is far more like a master and a pleasure slave."

"Great," John says, drawing out the syllable sarcastically. "And now they want us to, what, prove it?"

"I'm afraid so," Woolsey says. "Look, Colonel, I'm very sorry I ever thought of it. I had no idea they would actually ask for proof! But honestly, I tried every other form of negotiation. And I was hoping that, given your, ah, natural proclivities, this tack wouldn't prove quite as arduous for you as it might for certain others."

Fantastic. So apparently Woolsey knows John does guys. John spares a moment to wonder where, exactly, he heard that, when John's been as discreet as humanly possible ever since he came to the Pegasus galaxy, but there really isn't a lot of time for speculation. He wants to get out of here, and Woolsey apparently has a way. "So what do I have to do, suck your dick?" He means it flippantly, but the lines in Woolsey's forehead tighten in a way that means he's hit close to the mark.

"Actually, I'm afraid they were extremely specific as to the nature of the sex act involved. I'll need to, ah, penetrate you anally. And we have to do it in front of six witnesses."

John doesn't even know why he's surprised. Funny how even in Pegasus people assume the only kind of gay sex that counts is buttfucking. "Nice rescue."

"I'm sorry," Woolsey says, and the way he's wringing his hands doesn't leave a lot of doubt as to his sincerity. "I wish I could have come up with another way. Of course, I can leave you here and attempt a military solution, but this place is heavily fortified and the Flusa'a have a number of allies we'd really rather not turn into enemies."

John thinks about that, and about the chance that he'd lose men just because he doesn't want to take it up the ass from his base commander. Framed that way, the choice is obvious. "No," he says. "You got this far doing it your way. Might as well go ahead and pop my cherry in the name of interplanetary relations."

"'Pop your cherry'?" Woolsey says faintly. "I thought you were..."

"Gay?" John says. "Actually, I'm more kind of bi. And I like giving head." The last bit comes out kind of defensive, but damn it, he's run up against too many assumptions in his life and it's not like Woolsey doesn't already think he knows everything.

"Oh," Woolsey says. "I see. I, um, well. This is going to be a bit of a problem."

John rolls his eyes. "Pretty sure I can take a cock up my ass," he says. Hell, he's done worse, for less reason. "Guys do it every day."

Woolsey clears his throat. "Yes, of course," he says. "It's just that, well, according to a number of my previous sexual partners, I am rather well endowed."

Yeah, right, John thinks, but he's not enough of a dick to tell Woolsey that that's just what people say when they feel a need to pump up your ego. "I think I can handle it," he says. After all, how big can Woolsey be?

***

Pretty big, actually. Make that fucking enormous. John stares at Woolsey's dick, wondering how on Earth the guy has been walking around with a trouser snake that huge and he didn't even notice.

Obviously, he needs to work on his powers of observation.

It's a nice cock, too. Well proportioned for its size and nicely symmetrical, even in its current, not-quite-hard state. John suddenly wonders if Woolsey can get it all the way up. Some guys with big ones can't.

"Well, get on with it," one of the Flusa'a says, and Woolsey flushes and pushes his pants down far enough to step out of them. At least, that's what John figures he's doing. It's kind of hard to see from his position sprawled on his back on the platform, altar, whatever this thing is.

"I'm not used to being watched," Woolsey says, and John lifts his head again to see that his cock has drooped a little more.

Of course, John doesn't even know that Woolsey's not straight, and this could be a problem.

"You need help with that?" he hears himself say.

Woolsey's eyes go a little wild behind his glasses. "Well, I don't think I really..."

"C'mon," John says, sitting all the way up. "Might as well do this right." The Flusa'a don't look happy, but none of them make a move to stop him, and Woolsey's cock really is a nice one. John slides down to his knees, braces one hand on Woolsey's thigh, and sucks him in.

It's been a while since he's done this, because discretion usually means sticking to women most of the time, and he hasn't had a lot of women in the past five years, either. So Woolsey's cock probably tastes better than it should. John works the head with his tongue for a bit, listening to the sound of Woolsey's uneven breathing and humming in satisfaction as Woolsey's cock fills against the roof of his mouth.

So apparently Woolsey can get fully hard. Impressively hard, actually, and when John opens his throat and tries to take the whole thing, he can't do it, even when he suppresses his gag reflex and tries to swallow around it. Above him, Woolsey makes a choked-off gasp and John feels hands in his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, so he pulls back.

"Hey," he says, possibly a little sulkily because he was just getting started, but Woolsey's breathing pretty hard.

"John," Woolsey says, and John's not sure if he's ever used his first name before but under the circumstances, it seems appropriate. "I can't...we have a requirement to meet."

John lifts his eyebrows, because surely Woolsey can't be close this fast, but then he looks down at Woolsey's cock, flushed and wet with his spit and bobbing slightly, and maybe Woolsey has a legitimate concern.

"Right," he says, and climbs back up on the platform. The Flusa'a provided some oil for lubricant and he's already stuck three of his fingers up himself, but now that he's seen Woolsey naked, he kind of wishes he'd tried five. But he spreads his legs and lifts his knees and tries not to clench down too hard. He's hard himself from having his mouth on a cock for the first time in ages, but he doesn't figure that's a problem, and if it is, the Flusa'a can kiss his well-oiled ass.

Woolsey, meanwhile, is using a generous amount of the oil on himself. John can't help lifting his head to watch, even as it makes him think about where Woolsey's planning to stick that monster. There's just no way it's going to fit. No way in hell.

And then Woolsey steps up to the platform and leans over him. His cock bumps John just below the balls, and John feels a pleasant shudder of sensation. If it all felt like this, he wouldn't mind. But Woolsey's easing his hips back and the head of his cock slides down until John can feel the pressure of it against his hole.

Damn, it feels even bigger than it looks.

"Breathe deeply," Woolsey says quietly, and John meets his eyes, startled by the softness of his tone. If he'd figured anything, he would have thought Woolsey would bluster his way through this, but all he sees on Woolsey's face is compassion and a little uncertainty. Like he feels terrible about the whole situation, and really, that's no way to get through this.

If they have to fuck, they should do it right. John slides a hand up around the back of Woolsey's head and uses his other elbow to push himself up enough to kiss him.

Two things happen at once: Woolsey gasps against his mouth and his hips snap forward, driving the head of his cock into John's ass. It hurts, and John can't help whimpering and jerking, but somehow that drives Woolsey's cock deeper and it hurts even more.

"Oh, hell," Woolsey says against his mouth, but John clenches the hand that's around his neck and doesn't let him pull away.

"Do it," he mouths, kissing Woolsey again. "C'mon."

Woolsey kisses him back, with tongue this time, and maybe it's for show but he's actually not a bad kisser. After a moment John figures out that he's trying to give him a little time to adjust, and actually, it's helping. Woolsey's cock still feels ridiculously huge, but it doesn't hurt quite as much, and after a few more deep kisses, John thinks he can take some more.

He tilts his hips up and gets another inch or so, along with another spasm of pain. Damn, he's always thought it would be nice to be hung. He never thought of the consequences. He wonders how many of Woolsey's previous partners have dumped him after a single encounter.

But Woolsey's really pretty accommodating, letting John take as much as he can and not pushing harder. Maybe too accommodating, considering they have observers.

One of the Flusa'a clears his throat. "Do you always treat him like this?"

Woolsey lifts his head. "Like what?"

"Like a fragile flower," the Flusa'a spits. "What is the use of a _katsekeen_ if you cannot take your pleasure however you like it?"

"This happens to be how I like it," Woolsey says. It's a nice play, but John knows they can't afford to get into an argument. 

Under the circumstances, he's pretty sure he shouldn't be telling Woolsey what to do, but he's not entirely without options. He lets go of Woolsey's neck and sinks back down, tipping his head back and letting his arms fall to the sides.

It's weird to be trying to let go like this. He's always liked to be in charge during sex, if not of his partner at least of himself. But this situation calls for total surrender, and he kind of figured that when he agreed to play the part.

John sees Woolsey swallow above him, his Adam's apple bobbing, which means he's reading John's signals pretty damn well. 

"Of course," Woolsey says, "it's not the only way I like it."

John does his best to relax, but it's hard, and when Woolsey moves, it's all he can do to keep from crying out. Woolsey's shoving in hard, and it feels like his cock is never going to end, like it's miles instead of inches long.

He can't take it. He feels like he's being skewered. Opened up. Laid wide. He feels more exposed than he's ever been in his life. And still Woolsey keeps shoving in.

And then, finally, miraculously, John feels the press of Woolsey's balls against his ass. John gets a sudden rush, like he's just climbed a mountain or made a successful landing after a fourteen-thousand-foot skydive. He's made it. He's taken the whole damn thing, and for a moment he's on top of the world.

"I'm sorry," he hears Woolsey whisper, close to his ear, and he opens his eyes to find Woolsey bent down over him.

"Told you I could take you," John whispers back, and it comes out kind of smug, but he figures he has a right. He's never imagined feeling this full. Well, okay, he's never spent a lot of time thinking about bottoming, but he's pretty sure this isn't a typical first time.

"I'm going to fuck you now," Woolsey announces, and he starts to pull out.

There's no way to brace himself for the second stroke, so John just takes it. It hurts, but not as much as the first time, so John breathes through it and the next stroke and the stroke after that until it mostly just starts to feel weird. Weird that something that big is pumping in and out of him. And weird in another way, too.

So, yeah, he's heard all about prostates and he's been with guys who like to be fingered while they're being blown, so it's not like it's a surprise, but damn, it feels bizarre. Like sex and not like sex and he really wants to touch himself.

His hand twitches, about to reach for his cock, but just in time he remembers the observers. His role here probably doesn't include jerking himself off while Woolsey fucks him.

So there's nothing he can do but lie back and take it. His cock is hard against his stomach and Woolsey's pounding into him like a giant piston and he feels like his body has been taken over, like it's not even his to control anymore. He's just an ass for Woolsey to fill. Just a _katsekeen_ , whatever the hell that is, but the most unnerving part is that his cock is leaving a sticky trail on his belly like it has a mind of its own.

He's being fucked, which is not something he's ever wanted, by Woolsey, who is not someone he's ever wanted, in front of six voyeurs, which is really not his kink. He's probably going to be pretty fucked up about this later. But right now he's just kind of floating. Floating and wishing like hell he could touch himself, because damn, he really needs to come.

Woolsey's eyes are closed and John can see the beads of sweat on his forehead. He's putting everything into this, probably trying to get it over with, only he doesn't seem to be getting there very quickly. So either he's really not into John, or he's feeling uncomfortable or guilty enough that it's blocking him.

Well, if it's John, there's not a lot he can do, but if it's guilt.... John reaches up and touches Woolsey's cheek. Woolsey's eyes pop open, looking wide behind the glasses he's still wearing, and John lifts his head and kisses him. With tongue.

"Oh, God," Woolsey says into his mouth, and comes.

John feels an unexpected heat course through him, because that was him, that was totally the kiss, but then Woolsey fumbles a hand between them without letting his mouth go and he feels Woolsey's thumb swipe the head of his cock. And then he's coming, too, all over his stomach, with Woolsey still buried deep inside him.

"Well," Woolsey says, pushing himself up and pulling out. It's a strange, squelchy feeling and John has to lie there and pant for a moment while Woolsey goes on. "I hope that's satisfied you."

For a moment John thinks Woolsey's talking to him, and then he remembers. The Flusa'a. The deal. Right.

He just took it up the ass for interplanetary peace.

"I am not entirely sure you understand the meaning of a _katsekeen_ ," the head of the Flusa'a says slowly. "But it is clear he is submissive to you. It is sufficient."

"Thank you," Woolsey says with surprising dignity.

John just lies there for a few more minutes and watches Woolsey pull his pants on. They don't hide as much as John remembers, now that he knows what's inside them.

***

"For the record," Woolsey says on the way to the gate, "there will be no mention of the specific conditions of your release in my official report."

"Thanks," John says. He's concentrating on trying to walk straight. It's not easy, because it feels like he just took a bowling ball up the ass. "Uh, same here."

Woolsey nods. "Thank you." 

John's hoping that's the end of the conversation, but Woolsey's still looking at him. "You will, of course, have to go straight to the infirmary."

Damn. So apparently John's not doing so well with the walking straight. "I'm fine," he says. They let him use the can before he left, and there was no sign of blood. A hell of a lot of jizz, but he figures that's par for the course.

Woolsey acts like he didn't hear him. "You'll need counseling, too, of course. And if you'd like me to be present at any of the sessions, I would be more than willing."

"I said I'm fine," John repeats, because the message obviously didn't get through the first time. "Unless you're trying to tell me you've just given me the space clap."

"What?" Woolsey says. "No, of course not. I may not get tested quite as often as you do, but I can assure you that Dr. Keller is very thorough, and I haven't, ah, had any potential source of infection since the last time I was checked. I hope you know I would never have engaged in an act of unprotected intercourse if there was any chance of endangering you in that manner."

"Yeah, yeah," John says, waving a hand, because he'd meant that as a joke. "Look, what happened back there happened. It's no big deal."

Woolsey frowns, but he doesn't say anything for a long moment as they crest a small hill and find the gate in front of them. "I see," he says finally. 

"Oh, hey," John says, "but if you need to see a counselor, you should do that."

"Me?" Woolsey says.

John slows his pace, bumping Woolsey's shoulder to get his full attention. "It doesn't make a difference who was on top," he says. "You were forced, too."

Woolsey frowns, the grooves in his face deepening. "It was my fault the negotiations went in that direction. I never imagined they'd ask for proof."

"You know," John says. "I hear counseling can help with the guilt thing, too."

Woolsey's expression doesn't lighten. "This is no joking matter, Colonel."

"Never said it was," John says, because maybe his tone was flippant, but he was serious about the counseling, if Woolsey needs it. "You ever do that before?" he asks.

"What?" Woolsey says, and his voice is a little high-pitched for John's liking. "You mean forcing someone to commit a sexual act they find distasteful with someone they're not attracted to because I couldn't find a better way to get them released from prison? No, as a matter of fact, I haven't."

They're almost to the grassy circle in front of the gate. "No," John says. "I mean, fucking a guy."

"Oh," Woolsey says, and a bit of the hysteria fades. "I see. I mean, yes. Yes, of course I have."

"That's good," John says, and he didn't realize until right now how much he needed to hear that. "One less thing to be traumatized about, right?"

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Woolsey says.

John steps up to the DHD and begins to dial. "Richard," he says. It feels strange to be on a first-name basis with his base commander, but John figures he's earned the right. "You're gonna be fine. We both are."

Woolsey watches as the wormhole blooms before activating his IDC. "I know," he says, moving forward to face the puddle. He waits for John to join him. "By the way," he adds, with an unexpectedly shy sideways look, "my friends call me Dick."

John can't help a grin and a quick glance in the direction of Woolsey's crotch. "I can see why," he says, and he's pretty sure the top of Woolsey's head goes pink as they step into the wormhole together.


End file.
